


Lothal's Moons

by kgirl1



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Gen, no-longer-agent Kallus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-26
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 12:12:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,750
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9071092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kgirl1/pseuds/kgirl1
Summary: Kallus and Hera embark on an excursion to Lothal.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is set sometime in the future, with the assumption that Kallus eventually defects from the Empire and joins the rebels on Chopper Base.

Kallus bounced nervously on his feet as the Phoenix captain approached him.

“Captain Syndulla,” he nodded deeply enough to lean into a bow, hoping it showed deference.

“Kallus,” she nodded back. “You… requested me?” The tone of her voice matched the light suspicion edged on the Twi’lek’s features.

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “I need your help fulfilling a… personal mission.”

She narrowed her eyes. “What kind of ‘personal mission’?”

Kallus shifted his weight. “You remember Maketh Tua? She governed in Pryce’s absence?” Syndulla nodded.

“I have...” Kallus cleared his throat. “I’d like to return her ashes to her parents.”

Syndulla’s eyes widened in surprise.

“I… I’d like to give them a sense of closure,” he added. “

I see,” Syndulla nodded slowly, and seemed to be accepting the idea. “But why do you need my help?”

“I’m not trusted to take a ship out on my own,” he admitted. “And frankly, I thought you’d be good at this sort of thing.” She raised an eyebrow but didn’t say anything.

“I swear, I don’t have any external motivation—”

“It’s not that.” She raised a gloved hand, stopping him. “Ezra and Kanan have the Phantom out right now. We’ll have to wait for them to get back.”

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

She nodded curtly. “We’ll leave as soon as they return.”

* * *

 

Syndulla was certainly a master pilot. He’d read the Empire’s reports on her and all the rebels so many times that he could have recited them, but words didn’t do justice t

o her kind of mastery. It was as if the shuttle was an extension of herself, and he barely felt so much as a quiver when they landed on the outskirts of Lothal.

“So.” Syndulla finally spoke, the first words that had been exchanged for the duration of the flight. “This is Tua’s hometown.”

“It took me a while to locate the information in the Empire’s databanks,” Kallus said, surveying their surroundings. “This farm has been in her family for generations. She was Lothal, through and through.” There was a single house in the midst of the farmland; they’d landed not too far from it.

“I suppose we’d better introduce ourselves,” Syndulla said. He followed her out of the shuttle.

Two figures, a man and a woman, had emerged from the house when the ship landed. Kallus felt his stomach twist itself into knots as they drew closer. The woman was shielding her eyes from the sun; the man had a blaster ready at his shoulder.

“Don’t come any closer,” he ordered. Kallus froze up but Syndulla kept walking (and he had to admit that that impressed him).

“Mr. and Mrs. Tua?” She called.

“I said stop right there!” The man shouted, hoisting the weapon.

The twi’lek slowed her pace and lifted her hands in the air. “We’re here about your daughter.”

“Maketh?” Kallus heard the woman whisper. She tugged on her husband’s jacket, and while he didn’t lower the rifle, its barrel turned toward the ground.

“Maketh,” Hera echoed, drawing nearer. Kallus, feeling more like a coward than he ever had (and he’d done many, many things worthy of that feeling), remained frozen.

“Maketh is dead.” The man took an angry step toward Hera.

“I know.” The captain’s voice was soft; she was nearly an arm’s length away from them now. Kallus was nervous for her. “I know, and I’m sorry.”

The man took another step, but his wife moved forward too, putting her hand on his arm. “Who are you?” She tempered his suspicion with curiosity.

“I… We… knew Maketh,” Syndulla said, with a backward glance at Kallus, who realized he was being cued. Awkwardly, he trotted up to the confab, clutching the urn tightly. Their eyes widened once they realized what he was holding.

“I thought...” he began lamely, extending it. With trembling hands, the woman took the urn from him and with it, any idea of how he had intended to finish that sentence.

“Maketh,” she whispered with watery eyes. The rifle fell from her husband’s hands; he placed a palm over the smooth metal and closed his eyes.

The woman looked back up at them. “Thank you,” she whispered. “Thank you so much.”

Syndulla reached out and put a hand on her shoulder, and Kallus glanced at her in terror of how this couple, who had them at point blank just seconds ago, would react. The twi’lek, who he was starting to realize was even bolder than he’d thought (and although he would never say this to her, much tougher than she looked), ignored him. “I wish we could have done more,” she said.

The woman showed a sad smile (Kallus still heaved a silent sigh of relief when Syndulla removed her hand). “This is already so much more than we thought we would receive,” the woman said. She glanced at the pair. “You must be tired from your journey. Would you like to come in for tea?”

Kallus gave his associate a look that he hoped sent a clear enough please, no, but Syndulla replied with a miniscule narrowing of her eyes at him.

“Please.” The eyes of Maketh’s mother implored them, and the husband nodded in agreement.

Syndulla gave both a sincere smile. “We would love to.”

Kallus tried to hold back an eye roll as he followed them in. Behind the couple, Syndulla reached over and gave his arm a hard squeeze, which was either meant to be reassuring or reprimanding, likely the latter.

“I am Maree, and this is Lars,” the woman said, guiding them to a small sitting area.

“Hera,” Syndulla extended her hand. Kallus surveyed the home— it looked small, sparsely furnished. Not cramped, but with every inch of space utilized. It was hard to picture Tua growing up here. He searched their surroundings without knowing what he was looking for—some sort of giveaway, a photo, maybe. He realized with a start that they were staring at him, waiting for him to introduce himself. Kallus blinked.

“Ah, Kallus.” He accepted the mug and the amused look that Maree was giving him. “Thank you.”

“We were just about to have tea,” she said, sitting down herself. “That was Tua’s favorite, when she was a girl. She used to host these elaborate tea parties…” Maree trailed off, a wistful smile on her face. “Well, as elaborate as she could make them, growing up on Lothal.” The woman rubbed a thumb over the chip in her teacup, suddenly seeming very self-conscious of the home she had invited them into.

“I’m sure you did the best you could,” Syndulla said softly. “These are hard times.”

Kallus silently marveled at the twi’lek’s tact. Never in a million years would he have been able to come up with a response like that; comforting and generalized, supportive without sounding judgmental. Savoir faire had certainly never been in his curriculum, and he wondered if hers was taught or inborn.

“When she went off to the Academy she promised us to send every penny she had to spare. She was so excited, wouldn’t stop talking about how she was going to make us proud,” Maree said, looking wistful. “She would write of everything they were learning, too; every language, every battle maneuver. I started to feel like I was back in school myself.” She chuckled, and Syndulla reciprocated with a gentle laugh. “But she was always a good writer. Made you feel like you were right there with her.”

Kallus remembered the handful of times he had walked in on Tua scribbling in that little notebook of hers. He wondered where it was now.

“I still have all of her letters,” Maree sighed. “Silly, isn’t it? The things we keep to remember our children by.”

“My father still has my first set of nightclothes,” Syndulla said with a grin. “I don’t think it’s silly at all.”

Kallus raised his eyebrows in surprise—Cham Syndulla, the famous (or infamous, depending which side you asked, and he was only just starting to acclimate to having the perspective flipped around on him) war hero, had stashed his daughter’s pajamas?— and then tried to hide it, by sipping his tea. His attempt at being discreet failed when it burned his throat, making him cough madly. His own coughs drowned out the sound, but he could have sworn Syndulla was stifling laughter.

“My apologies,” he muttered, when the fit had subsided.

“Goodness, I must be boring you two to tears,” Maree waved her hand in the air (to be fair, his eyes were watering, but only from the pulmonary strain). “I’ll let you talk. How did you know our girl?”

“Well, I’m afraid Maketh and I were in fairly different fields, but Kallus worked closely with her,” Syndulla, smooth as ever, prompted. His mouth ran dry.

“Yes, um, I knew Maketh well,” he said. “Ah, we were tasked with the elimination of Lothal’s rebels.”

Maree and Lars exchanged an amused look, which prompted Kallus and Syndulla to exchange a confused one.

“Yes, we remember those rebels well,” Maree chuckled. “You could practically hear poor Maketh clenching her teeth when she talked about them. I swear, the ink is those letters runs darker, from her pressing on the pen so hard!”

Even Kallus had to crack a smile at that. “Maketh was certainly devoted to her Empire.”

“Shame it wasn’t a two-way street,” Lars muttered under his breath.

“Lars!” Maree drove her elbow into her husband’s side, and with a hushed tone, hissed “That kind of talk could get you killed.” The woman turned back to Kallus and Syndulla, and regarded them with fearful eyes. “I’m so sorry, he didn’t mean it—”

“It’s alright.” Hera was quick to reassure her. “You’re grieving.”

Kallus felt his blood run cold with dread. Was that how people truly felt about the Empire? How they’d felt about him?

“We aren’t here on business. You’re welcome to speak as freely as you wish,” Hera said.

Maree’s shoulder sagged with a heavy sigh, and her gaze fell to the floor. “It’s just… it’s so hard,” she whispered. “Your daughter leaves you for this… this organization, this Empire, that’s supposed to be best for everybody, and she gives them everything— her energy, her time, her passion. In the end, her life. And what do they give her in return?”

Maree looked up and wiped her eyes. Even filled with tears, Kallus could see the anger behind them. This woman, this family, had been gravely wronged, and the organization he had once stood for hadn’t so much as batted an eye. He felt a horrible sense of guilt twisting his stomach, the tea he had drank turning against him, at the thought of these people who had welcomed him into their home, hailing him as some great noble knight, having no idea who he really was, what he had truly done, what he had stood for once. Having no idea that he was just a hollow charade of the man they thought he was and that he would never be more than that, would never be able to make up for the past he had once been so proud of creating.

“Nothing.” Maree’s haunted whisper cut straight into his heart, and he thought he was going to be sick. “Not so much as a moment of gratitude.”

“We found out from the news,” Lars said. “Our own daughter, killed, and we found out from the damn news.” The man shook his head. “They sent a letter, four weeks later. Some gesture,” he scoffed. The room grew smaller and smaller with every punctuated word. Kallus had sent that letter. He remembered how he had felt, finally sealing it for delivery, after all of the hassle he had gone through to get an address. Feeling proud of himself for doing the right thing in the midst of so much wrong.

That he had even considered that note a struggle, an achievement, was a joke. These people had lived through the brutal murder of their daughter. They had waited for an apology that would never come. All he had done was send 21 words.

And to think he had _prided_ himself on that?

Kallus stood up, his legs too repulsed by his body to allow it to remain in the chair.

“Excuse me,” he managed.

Outside the home he doubled over, dropping his hands onto his knees and breathing heavily. The shame, the grief, all of it swept over him, churning and swirling within the deep cavern of emptiness inside him and creating an angry storm.

He didn’t know how long it was before Syndulla came out the door, her face drawn. Embarrassed, he tried to straighten up in her presence, but to his surprise, she put a hand on his shoulder, helping him up. She looked into his eyes and Kallus felt like it was the first time any of the rebels had faced him, really seen him, without a filter of distrust or hate. He blinked in surprise; shocked at the feeling of being regarded and evaluated as another being, rather than scrutinized as a threat.

Her eyes were soft, kind.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

He managed to shake his head no.

“Okay.”

His heart rate finally slowed in hyperspace; the gentle swirling of space around them the only sound between the pair.

“That was the right thing,” she surprised him by speaking. “What you did today.”

Her words were kind, too kind; kinder than he deserved.

“Today, maybe,” Kallus sighed. “As for everything before…”

“Hey.” Syndulla fixed him with a look that he had thought was only reserved for when the Bridger boy was up to mischief. “We can’t change our pasts; we can only direct our future.”

He didn’t have a response for that that wouldn’t just depress both of them further, so he stayed quiet.

After another moment, Syndulla gave him a sideways look. “You sent that letter, didn’t you?”

He avoided her eyes. “It seems like an empty gesture now. Like putting gauze over an amputated limb.”

“That doesn’t change the fact that it was the right thing to do.”

“Maree and Lars certainly didn’t seem to think so.” It sounded even more childish and petty when spoken than it had in his head.

Syndulla rubbed the dashboard with her thumb. “Maybe not. But sometimes you have to judge by the intention of the action, rather than its consequences.”

“You’re just full of little maxims, aren’t you?” He muttered before he realized he hadn’t meant to say it. Kallus’s eyes went wide in horror at himself and he turned to her with a cascade of apologies on his tongue, ready for her to drop him out of the ship and into hyperspace, when he realized that she had actually stifled a snort of laughter.

He sank down in his chair in relief. “I’m sorry, that… that came out wrong.”

“Well,” she said, after a pause that was almost too long for his comfort. “We can’t all be full of little maxims.”

When he looked over he could have sworn she was hiding a self-satisfied smirk, and he half-smiled himself.

“I sincerely hope that you’re teasing me and not planning to dump me as soon as we drop out of hyperspace.”

She shrugged. “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t thought about it.”

Something about her tone told him she was being both deadpan and dead honest, and he liked that. The transparency was refreshing, considering everyone else in the rebellion seemed to be treating him as if he were the transparent one (with the exception of the occasional scowl).

“But,” Hera continued, “As you can maybe tell from my crew, but I’m a big believer in second chances.”

He was taken aback—had she just shared an inside joke with him?— and when she looked over and gave him a gentle smile, it felt warmer than sunlight hitting his skin. They dropped out of hyperspace and Atollon came into view, and Syndulla turned to the dashboard, flipping switches and toggling lights. Somehow, the distraction gave him the courage to speak.

“I… I appreciate everything you’ve done for me today,” Kallus said quietly. They were the best words he could offer. “Thank you.”

She faced him once more, holding his gaze sincerely. “You’re welcome.”

Syndulla turned back to the dashboard, and he to the windshield; watching the planet grow and feeling for the first time like he was returning home.


End file.
